Concern
by Jamocha101
Summary: He didn't want them to worry.
1. He Didn't Want Them to Worry

**This was a short piece of junk I scribbled out at school, today. Read if you must.**

**Disclaimer: Jamocha101 owns everything. On Opposite Day.**

**Onward.**

He shivered, only reminded of how freezing he was, even buried under five blankets, tucked in so tight, he wasn't able to move; not that he would be able to move, anyway. Why, then, he had to wonder, was he sweating?

He should have foreseen by the obvious symptoms, and went to see the doctor, before it came down to this. The past few weeks, his throat was burning an unexplainable flame of pain inside his neck, every time he swallowed, let alone talk, which eliminated singing, which he did anyway, In spite of himself. He regretted not telling his siblings earlier that he was feeling sick, but a sore throat, and occasional coughing fits were nothing to fuss over, and he needn't his family worry about him-he was supposed to worry about them, as an older brother. The guardian should never disregard his rightful duties, because there was a bug in his throat-his siblings became concerned when they noticed how little he spoke (the most out-of-character trait he could acquire), how little he ate, how little he slept, and how is eyes were becoming baggier every day. They became more concerned when his shoulders and back began to slouch, contradicting his customary confidence, and his legs appeared to become shaky, his nose becoming runny, and he had ceased all un-responsive dialog, all together. When he _did_ talk, it sounded painful.

Of course, he was approached-several times, each one more earnest-concerning his gradually limper form, and every time, he simply refused, and insisted all he needed was more sleep-though it didn't tame his family's worries to contemplate that he was an insomniac. But oh, well. If he had a bug, he had a bug.

He didn't want them to worry.

It wasn't until that fine morning, when he crawled out of bed, after weeks of hiding his supposed illness, shaking so violently, he hardly kept himself on his feet, and had to limp weakly across his bedroom, silently thanking himself that his siblings were already awake, and in the kitchen, and couldn't see him shaking as if he were in sub-zero temperatures , his back hunched over so far, it receded his normal height by six inches.

Everything hurt. His throat scratched brutally, his chest was burning, as if it were on fire. He would have to push himself to act as though he were alright, so his siblings wouldn't be suspicious. That would be hard; he could barely stand up straight.

He mustered enough strength to disguise himself from appearing as diseased as he felt, but if only for a short time.

He didn't want them to worry.

He was freezing, shaking, aching, sick. But his siblings shouldn't have to take of him. They shouldn't have that burden. He had to convince himself that the "bug" would go away. He had to convince _them_ that the bug would go away.

But he could only go so far, before the charade became too much.

He only sat down, but the moment he had, he began heaving, unbelievable coughs into his elbow that sounded as though he had been gargling nails. He tried to stop, but he couldn't, and the pain in his throat only became worse, every cough hailing out, his body shaking, his chest barreling infrequently; he couldn't breathe. He tried to inhale, but he couldn't. He tried to exhale, but coughs came out, instead.

Everything clouded from the accumulated water in his already-glassy eyes, and he could hardly hear the panicked interjections, and inquiries between his two siblings. They sounded so worried.

He didn't want them to worry.

He knew he took it too far, waited too long. His intention wasn't to make himself more sick, oh no, he just wished his siblings wouldn't have to take care of him, to worry about him. He only saw now, how much that backfired, and he couldn't believe he allowed it to do so, to such an extent. Passed the coughs, the wheezes, the tears, and burns, and aches, he could only calculate what an idiot he was.

He didn't want them to worry.

Of course, it was too late for that-his siblings were clearly scampering in maximum concern for their heaving brother. The lack of breathing must have been draining the oxygen from his brain, because everything kept fading, in and out. He was so dizzy.

He could feel hands clinging to him, draped over his shoulders, trying to lead him to the exit, which must have failed, because he felt his knees heavily hit the floor. He tried to get up, but only succeeded because his siblings gingerly tugged him to his feet, and he felt himself sitting on something soft. The couch? That must mean he couldn't walk.

The next thing he could sense was a new voice, more coughs, a hand on his forehead, and waking up in a new place. His bed. With a damp ice pack draped over his brow, and his siblings by his side. He only wished to know what happened-at least he wasn't heaving anymore; at least he could breathe. But every breath he took, his chest stung, sending a terrible stinging sensation up his never-more-stiff neck. Everything hurt. His arms, his legs, his head, his nose, his eyes, his feet-everything to his fingertips was aching like the Dickens. No wonder he couldn't move. But the aches and pains were the last that came to mind, as he slowly, and painfully, turned his head to see his siblings' terribly relived expressions, which suddenly fell lividly , quickly resulting in a reunioned, effortful hug, and a searing question-

"Why didn't you _tell_ us you were sick?"

At once, he fult a wave of guilt flush completely over him, only adding to the pain. With the vocals that didn't feel completely inflamed, he wearily choked a barely audible response-

"I-" he stopped to cough a sudden splash of phloem from his burning throat-"I didn't want you to worry…"

**Please don't brick me. I don't believe this is one of my better works, but I just felt, that since I wrote it, I might as well post it. I know there's a billion unanswered questions, I know it's choppy, I know it's vague, I know it's over-dramatic, I know it's out of character, it just came to me through the Voices. So blame them. And blame the Pencil. **

**By the way, thank you to everyone who reviewed my previous story, you are great persons, and I love the genuine feedback you gave me. Peace.**


	2. Because They Care

**The story was supposed to be over, I swear. The "complete" feature within the sub-description does not lie. HOWEVER, people kept feeding me comments like "It just kind of stopped," and "please continue", and "keep writing", so needless to say, I have hence been challenged to "continue" this already complete fiction. But this chapter is the last. That, I can promise you.**

**Anyhoo, I really do appreciate the reviews, and the people who took the time TO review it, and because I am so very thankful for you, I will continue the story, as to your desires. But as of now, I have no idea what I am doing. Herewego.**

**I don't own anything. Worship me.**

Yakko had an appointment arranged with Scratchy, weeks later, when he was fully mobile and no longer heaving, and he was anything but especially enthusiastic about going. His siblings insisted that he could just use communication with someone other themselves once he was able to walk, for fear he would grow mad after being cooked up for so long, with nothing but the infrequent rays of the sun beaming through the window to remind him of the outside world. Or at least when it wasn't storming, which seemed to be especially common throughout the streets of Burbank, ever since Yakko became laid up, and he was only left to assume that was because the universe wanted him to suffer.

He tried effortful to remain his normal optimistic self, smiling contently or gratefully whenever one of his siblings approached him, and tried to get him to eat, or drink, or read him one of his many books, which, if Yakko was to be frank, knew wasn't efficient because his six and seven-year old brother and sister tripped up continuously on the big words, or what they considered big words. But regardless, he was woeful, and his false smiles and still-maintained good manners- which, interestingly were only exposed to his family-did not fool neither him, or Wakko and Dot. He was sick and miserable, and everyone knew it, no matter how much difficulty he admitted to conceal it.

Perhaps it wasn't the recovering illness- which turned out to be Scarlet Fever, and miraculously did not spread to Wakko or Dot, who were, because of these circumstances, told to stat away from their brother as much as possible until the disease was no longer communicable. Perhaps he was feeling so inwardly lousy because he felt guilty. Guilty that he had put his siblings that he so often tried to please in a position where they had to take care of him. Guilty that he was stupid enough to allow the disease to escalate to what it did, to a raging fever, and short term hospitalization, whereas if he just took the hints when he started to get tired and thirsty all the time, it wouldn't have been so much trouble to take care of him-he might even have been able to take care of himself, but no, he had to be stupid and allow his siblings to break their backs, bent over him.

He didn't know if Dot and Wakko were especially annoyed at having to cater to their responsibilities, but on the persistent occurrences they walked into his room, they were either smiling or looked genuinely concerned, and not once had Yakko caught a glance of remorse from them. He had realized that since day one of rational consciousness, and the thankfulness he had for such good siblings made him feel only guiltier. He told them not to try so hard, and tried to get up and take care of himself for the purpose of taming his guilty conscience , and he was only scolded. One time in particular, he got up in the middle of the night just to get a drink of water, and Dot caught him on her way to the bathroom-perfect timing, Yakko thought- and she lit up like a fire fly, calling Yakko by his full name, which no on except Mr. Plotz ever does, and reprimanded him all the way back to his room, where she pushing him by his back, but Yakko noticed she was doing it gingerly, as if she thought he would snap in half if she did it any harder. And he sure felt like he would. He hadn't described to anybody how much his back and joints had been hurting him.

Dot was vain and temperamental, yes. But she cared a great deal for her family, and Yakko could see that, because she had so blindly been showing it. She had gone from "I'm cute" and "don't mess with me" to "My big brother is my most important and only priority" since the second he started coughing up a storm at the table, and she had gone out of her way, canceling many of her luxurious plans and wants to be sure Yakko was safe and comfortable. Even when he was communicable, she had been sitting outside his door, with her arms crossed over her chest, yelling inside all the time through the thick wood, and asking if Yakko needed anything, and when he didn't answer, because he was asleep or his throat was too indescribably sore, she would poke her head in, and sigh in relief whenever he saw him still breathing, as if she were so convinced he was death-bound. She and Yakko, like all brother and sisters, had a fair share of squabbles, and Yakko loved to tease her, to get inside her head and manipulate her, like messing up her raindrops song, and her "I'm Cute" performance. Or their occasional arguments, like the day she had such a hard time remembering her lines for their Cutie and the Beast; but such happenings were so uncommon, those days when she was so randomly cranky. She and Wakko seemed to argue a bit more, but Wakko usually had an upper hand, forcing the argument to end with his tact, taking everything too literally, or making spontaneous jokes as the argument went along, until Dot was too fed up to keep going. But Yakko wouldn't know how much they had been arguing because he had been so lock and key behind the wall of his bedroom that seemed to bet smaller and smaller every day. Sometimes he could hear ejaculations seeping through the door, or from the other side in the kitchen, but he could never completely make out what they were saying. One day, he heard her crying, and he heard Wakko comforting her, and he heard his name being said, and he heard Wakko's voice break a bit, and he heard him say, " I know, I know…", and his guilt had almost brought tears to his own glassy eyes. He knew Dot was crying over him. She was so concerned, and nervous, and Yakko knew he caused it. Thank goodness Wakko was there to take his place.

Wakko always had kind of been the quieter one of the group, certainly not the vocal like Yakko was, but ever since Yakko could hardly walk because of his extreme fever, Wakko spoke up, and assumed the position he knew he had to take. He had almost been hovering over Yakko more than Dot had, running in and out frequently, bringing him bottles of water, and he had even forced Yakko to suck on ice cubes to bring down the fever. He had taken Yakko's temperature every few minutes, and to Yakko's refusal, Wakko sat next his bed sometimes all night, occasionally touching Yakko's arm while he was asleep, as if to make sure he was still there. Yakko hadn't been optimistic at all about Wakko's decision to so, and Dot had followed along, too, sometimes, but she usually fell asleep on the floor, wrapped in quilt, and it was less frequent than Wakko's nighttime visits, anyway. Had Yakko only been able to get up and reprimand for situations that needed it the way he used to, Wakko would always get a full night's sleep, but he had neither the energy, nor the heart to firmly convince Wakko he was simply not worth being watched over all night. Wakko started cooking for himself and Dot, and went strongly against his will to conserve the amount of food he ate, so there was enough for his little sister to eat, and tried and tried again to get something down Yakko's throat, usually only in vain. On a regular day, Yakko was just there to restrict him from consuming the fridge in its entirety, and now he just fairing for himself, and for his siblings. He was in Yakko's position, and doing so, he found a renewed and stronger respect for his older brother. In the past, he spent spare time, whatever it was that he had tasked to occupy himself, comparing himself to Yakko, thinking about how he would do so much better, because he was so talented and tactful, and though that opinion might have not changed, he looked at his brother now, less with envy, more of admiration, even as he was weakly laid up in bed. He had done so before, but it had been accentuated to a recognizable height, to which he was proud to have found, and proud more of his brother for doing for him, what he had to no do for himself. At least temporarily. He knew he would never fully relate to the feeling of being the oldest child, but he interoperated the experience as a fateful lesson, as much as he hated to be doing so much work. It happened on several nights Dot would confess how worried she was, and Wakko, who shared mutual anxiety for the sake of his older sibling, would have to comfort her, and it was more painful to do so than he thought. It wasn't just the fact that it was so difficult to see his younger sibling, who was usually so confident and strong, in tears over the hopefully temporary conflict, but he himself having the same feelings, and unable to express them, given that he had to be strong for someone else. Yes, Wakko felt bottled up, and it was tough. Maybe, he thought, maybe when Yakko is completely healthy again, I can tell him all my troubles, and he can make me feel better like he always does. When this is all in the past.

Wakko's desire, however, was indeed coming to sight gradually, because Yakko's recovering, after all the medication that had him sleeping and sweating twice as much, was making a very slow and progressive regress. To his siblings, it felt like forever. Yakko was starting to get up and walk around without falling over or getting dizzy in the mid-third week, so when he got up for a glass of water, Dot wouldn't scold him, and he felt slightly reassured at his ability to roam, once again, to get on his feet, and take care of himself, as if he had died an old man, and woke up again with your five-year-old body, so you could do al the things you hadn't been able to do for years and years, even though for Yakko it was just a couple of weeks.

He still had days where he was drop-dead light-headed, and most days he still had no appetite, which frustrated his siblings to a point their paranoia took over and they though Yakko was starting to look more lanky than he had before he was sick, which was inevitably the last thing he needed. He had lost whatever significant body weight he had to lose, but the Gatorade and Powerade that Wakko always forced Yakko do drink was keeping him up to par, at least enough so that he could get out of bed.

His throat was taking the longest to give Yakko a break, being as it was, sore and raspy, and Yakko felt that he coughed up all the phloem in his throat, it would be enough to fill the bathtub. He was always coughing into his elbow, and the sound that arrived with the coughs was frightening, arising the concerns even more of Wakko and Dot, despite that they weren't nearly as bad as the heaves and wheezes that he produced the first week, when he had enough energy to contract and expand his lungs enough to get out a good breath of air. His glands were also swollen, and he had a festering rash from day one, but it was inevitably invisible from underneath his fur, and the antibiotics were torture to swallow, through his already tainted throat.

When he rationally considered the string of panic-worthy events, he had only wondered why his siblings were so concerned in the first place. Toons don't die. And that was the main concern. They die if they're born, but Yakko, and most of the cast of Animaniacs for that matter, were fully drawn, and therefore immortal, which gave Yakko all the more reason to feel guilty cause such a fuss, when really, there shouldn't be one at all.

But Yakko remembered questioning on a similar subject, and the response was that toons don't die if the creator doesn't allow them to, but that doesn't mean bad things can't still happen to them. Toons can still suffer, still have pain, especially when they're no longer contractually obligated to a frequent performance, and the writer no longer has anything to do with them. They become, in which case, fiercely independent, and therefore, there's no pencil guided by the hand of a Spielberg or a Rueger to prevent bad things from happening for the sake of appearance on a show. Yakko didn't know something as bad as scarlet fever could occur, and neither did his siblings, inevitably until it happened, and the wind came down in such a sudden shock, it provided the incentive of panic.

Yakko started to speak again around the same time he started getting out of bed and walking around the tower, but he hadn't been able to go anywhere, receiving the claims from his vigilant siblings he was too weak to descend the ladder, and his joints were still aching and burning, granting Yakko to think perhaps this time, their concerns were worthy of appeal. Even still had be begun talking after all this time, it was still painful, for the rash on his tongue and the back of his strep throat was still continuing its retirement, and his speech was scarce, as well as quiet to a point it was nearly inaudible and very raspy. This was the worst part. Being Yakko and not being able to talk was a punch in the face. The new silence and lack of rambling and humming throughout the tower nearly drove his siblings as mad as he.

Eventually, on the forth week, he had mustered enough strength for a slow, but safe descend from the ladder, and his throat was cleared enough for his speech to sound not quite so difficult, painful though, as it was.

That was the week Yakko had the appointment with Scratchy. He hadn't admitted he was actually looking forward to going, but not because he wanted to talk to somebody other than his siblings, which was their motive as they claimed, but because it just would have been so nice to see the sun, to feel the hot ground, to run around the movie lot just for fun. Though running, at the moment, was likely out of his league. It would be nice to see everyone again, too, even Ralph. His air-headed tendencies that were wont to set out a laugh were missed, and the absence Scratchy's heavy Austrian accent was especially pressing, despite those rare brief times he would visit, claiming he would love to stay longer, if it only weren't for his busy schedule. Hello Nurse Yakko had seen almost every day of the earlier weeks, given she and another doctor would check up on him and be sure the prescribed medication was working efficiently. After that, their visits became slightly more sparse, though the fact that Hello Nurse was the person Yakko had seen the most next to his siblings, he was still looking forward to seeing her at the office, where the gold old days had held their magical encounters. Magical for Yakko and Wakko, anyway. Yakko could only hope that by the time he made it to the office, he had enough energy to flirt with his long-term heroine.

Yakko insisted going by himself, so his hard-working siblings could just stay home and relax, but the firmly refused, claiming that Yakko was still weak and they openly expressed they were concerned he would faint on his way to the office, disregarding that he had been almost fully mobile for the entire week, and it would have been especially spontaneous for him to suddenly pass out, taking a twenty-yard walk to the other end of the lot. Of course, he didn't veto their decision, but their motives, he thought, were slightly embarrassing, as had all their motoring over him over him been the last few weeks. Yakko couldn't help but keep reminding himself that he was the older brother and shouldn't have his younger sister and brother looking after him ad if they were his parents, but he could also not help but consider how it wouldn't be much better if it were the other way around.

The walk to the office just didn't feel long enough. The descend from the ladder went just fine, though Yakko was obviously incapable of sliding down, gripping the rims like usual, he had climbed down at a fairly moderate pace, the smile on his face for the feeling of the rejuvenating sun on his fur was overwhelming, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, that certain smile on his face was not fake.

His siblings were talking to him during the walk, saying things he knew he would never be aware of, for he was not listening, in spite of his efforts to tear his eyes away from the sky that he didn't remember being so blue, and the birds that he didn't remember flew so gracefully. He felt as if he were with those birds, floating. Gliding, spreading his wings, seeing the sun for the first time.

"Right, Yakko?"

The toon in question snapped out of his oblivious trance when he heard his name mentioned, and peered down to see his litter sister with her brow raised, showing plainly on her face that she was awaiting a response.

Yakko knew he might as well not pretend he was listening. "Sorry, sis. I couldn't here you. I was daydreaming," he remarked, his voice raspy, and it wasn't until then he remembered his recovery hadn't been made in full, and his throat was still incredibly sore.

Dot just exhaled and shook her head ambiguously, not allowing for Yakko to translate whether it was of frustration or disapproval. And guilt flooded him once again. The least he owed to his siblings for they've done for him was to listen to them when they spoke, and he couldn't even do that. _"Good job, you scumbag," _he disciplined himself, his blissful thoughts sunken and replaced by light regret, once again.

His face must have been showing his notations, because his thinking was once again interrupted by the sound of his siblings voiced, and he took the opportunity to pick up and hear what he was saying, so he could make a significant reply.

"What's the matter, Yakko?" Wakko inquired, his voice filtered in concern that had grown all too familiar.

"Um," Yakko dumbly replied, inwardly debating whether he should apologize, or say nothing was wrong. But apologizing might seem over emotional, and they would know he had been stung out, which would make them nervous, and if he said nothing, that would be lying. Sweet conflict. "Nothing."

Wakko's brow furrowed for a second in disbelief, but he had deduced the best to do would be less than interrogating, and thus his head turned back in front of him, and the least to indicated his unrevealed response was a sigh. Yakko had been so uptight, which Wakko supposed, was normal for a sick person, but it was before he found out about the fever, too. He had seemed really over-protective, really alert, and even slightly paranoid. He also felt guilty about not telling his older brother what the appointment with the p-sychiastrist was really for, which was to find out the nub to the vigilant behavior he and Dot had observed. As an older brother, Wakko knew Yakko assumed a lot of responsibility, but it was only in current weeks his older brother began to constrict them so fiercely, like a bear with her cubs.

"After you, ladies," Dot mockingly gestured, as she held the door ajar to allow her older brothers in without response, once the arrival to the building had been made.

Yakko's smile returned to his face. The office almost felt like a whole new building that he had never seen before, but regardless of whether or not he would remember its function, or his reason for coming, he had never been happier to be there. The smell of rubber leather couches wafted at Yakko as he entered, and felt completely rejuvenated, once again.

The first person he recognized as he walked through the door was Hello Nurse, sitting close to her desk with her chest upright according to her erect back, and her fingers industriously typing away at her computer. It felt almost as if it were twelve years ago, back when the show was still on air, and they would do this every day, scripted or spontaneous, so often it felt like a second home, and now it felt like the first time in his life. Everyone in ToonTown had been the same age since whenever they were created, and Hello Nurse didn't look a year older from the seventeen years ago the Animaniacs fame had started.

She looked up from her computer briefly, and caught Wakko's wooed face with his tongue lolling farther out than usual, and familiar uncomfortable smile formed on her face. "Have a seat, kids. Dr. Scratchandsniff will be with you in a moment."

The three children did as told, and as Yakko sat down, he couldn't believe how good it felt to have his back sink into the luxurious leather of the waiting room couch, once again. He always thought of his bed the comfiest cushion one could lay on, but being there for three weeks straight made the feeling grate into powder, and the once amazingly comfortable mattress suddenly felt like stone, and he wished to stay on the couch forever. His ribs hurt for a moment when he sat down, as if they were inflamed, and the pain from his back pivoted forward a little, and then sank down into his spine, again. In the same moment, it regressed, and the same daydreaming obliviousness faded over Yakko for a second time. Being in the same place for weeks was uncommon for a toon, and the exploration of his once familiar world felt like a whole new experience.

The silence that was void of Hello Nurse's fingers tapping away at her keyboard was further broken by the ringing of the phone adjacent to Hello Nurse's computer, and she picked it by the second ring, holding it skillfully between her shoulder and her cheek. "Hello? Yes, they are. No problem, they'll be up in just a second. Okay. Bye. Kids, Dr. Scratchandsniff will have you, now."

A single question needn't be asked, and the Warner's raised and walked contently up the stairs to Scratchy's office, Yakko leading the way in his eagerness to meet his old friend, and as he proceeded down the hall at the top of the staircase where his destination was located, he felt like he knew the entire building inside and out, feeling at the same time, that he had never been there before, and despite the bafflement, his ambition was only increased.

Yakko outstretched his gloved hand for the door knob, and paused abruptly to look at his siblings, who stood patiently behind him, hands behind their backs.

"Are you guys coming in?"

Dot and Wakko exchanged unreadably blank glances. "We think you should see Scratchy privately," Wakko supplied, winking his eye, and exiting with Dot down the hallway without confirmation.

Yakko smiled with an exhale in spite of the sudden loneliness with his siblings no longer at his back, and he entered carelessly, as he did on his calmer days from back when the visits were choreographed, elated to find Scratchy scribbling away at his papers in his perverse slaughter-like handwriting.

"Oh, hello, Yakko," said p-sychiatrist, as his head pivoted away from his papers, and Yakko was both eccentric and surprised to see a genuinely happy smile ridden across the wrinkly pale face, as if he were as happy to see Yakko as Yakko was to see him. "Please sit down, I will get to you in a moment."

Yakko had a million things to say, and knew Scratchy was shocked that he hadn't begun spilling out those things to say, and rambling like he always did, but if only his throat wasn't so sore. The bumpy progressively healing rash on the back of his tongue was tingling of an itchy sensation, and even in his impatience he was rational enough to realize itching the back of your tongue was not at all functional, and he concluded the tools for the job were his jaw, his teeth, and the roof of his mouth.

"V'at are you doing?"

Yakko hadn't realized his lower jaw was shifting this way and that in an effort to tame his itching tongue, and how ridiculous he looked with his cheeks swollen in the meantime with the bulk of his impulsively swaying tongue.

Shifting his eyes from side to side as if to confirm that no one else had seen his mouth seizure, he laid his tongue and jaw to their conventional positions, and folded his hands in his lap to twiddle easily with his thumbs. "Um…Nothing."

Scratchy adjusted himself to erect his back as he received Yakko's denial as if he were lying about the weather outside, and folded his hands over his desk as Yakko had over his lap, to assumed his serious p-sychiatrist vibe in order to begin the session. He wasn't anticipating Yakko's scratchy voice and low volume, but his memory recalled and he deduced obliviously the reason why.

Yakko shrunk timidly from the silence. "My tongue was itchy…"

"I see. So, Yakko. It is very nice to see you again. How was your time at home?"

Yakko cleared his phloem-consumed throat. "Boring."

Scratchy inevitably expected Yakko to go into babbling detail, but he reminded himself, once again, of his croaky condition. Not hearing constant chatter in a conversation that contained anything but awkward silences made Scratchandsniff feel like he was talking to a stranger. "Anys'ing else but boring?"

"Nope. Just boring."

The p-sychiatrist knew his patient was paraphrasing. "Is there something you would like to talk about?"

Yakko's face was unchanged, and was as ambiguous as one could be. "My throat hurts."

Scratchy sighed, his frustration slowly increasing as he evaluated Yakko's resistance. They both knew where they wanted the climate of the conversation to be, and both were opposite perceptions, before Scratchandsniff presumed he was being too hasty.

"How are your siblings doing?" he inquired, furrowing his brow as if in effort to keep the smile o his face.

"Um," Yakko felt downtrodden, suddenly. He had forgotten for a little while how terrible he felt about his siblings practically killing themselves over for the sake of him, when he felt he should have just tried to take care of himself, or avoided their scolding's not to do so, or better yet, took a hint, and disallowed for the tragedy to occur, in the first place. He felt bottled up, as if he could let nobody know, and here he was, sitting in front of the one person, he could tell, and keeping it a secret, anyway. "Well-" Yakko cleared his throat, again- "they're fine…"

Scratchandsniff observed the doubting tone. "You seem unsure."

Yakko sighed. Do it now, and you won't have to do it, later, he thought. "I just…I feel lousy."

Scratchandsniff nodded understandably, and wrote in his pad with a small resisted smile on his face, as if he approved of Yakko's remark. "Why is that?" he questioned as his last 't' had been crossed, and his last punctuation dotted. "V'ould you like to talk about it, yah?"

Yakko sighed, so the height of his shoulders decreased severely. "Guilt."

He didn't know why he worded it so simply without elaboration, but it almost felt as if it came out on his own, and if he had thought about it considerably before he said it, it would not have made a difference, because it came out so independently, anyway.

It was in the distraction of these thoughts, Yakko hadn't noticed Scratchy's smile grow slightly wider. "I see…And what is it you feel guilty about?"

"Well…I shouldn't have been such an idiot, and let the scarlet fever get to what it did without telling anyone. I didn't know I could be so stupid. And then, because I was such an idiot, my younger brother and sister had to bend over me like crazy and take care of like I was there own child, and I should be taking care of them."

"You said they _had _to bend over you?"

"Yeah…"

Scratchy easily rested back in his chair. "They didn't _have _to."

Yakko wasn't sure how to receive that, or interoperate its meaning. He knew there was more to it than what he was giving credit for, and yet, he wasn't sure how much credit to give it. He waited for Scratchandsniff to break the silence for him, again;

"Why do you think you let yourself get so sick?"

Yakko scratched behind his ear. "I didn't want them to worry about me. They shouldn't have to."

A sour silence fell over the room, though it was not awkward, it was staged, and Yakko and Scratchandsniff both sank into those words, and Yakko decided, once again, to wait for Scratchandsniff to share his evaluation to break the silence of the room, without having to do it, himself.

But despite that notation, he blindly repeated, "I didn't want them to worry," without realizing he did it, and without knowing why.

"You didn't want them to worry."

Yakko's attention rested fully on the doctor, once again. "You didn't want them to worry. So you must care about them, yah?"

"Of course-eh'm-they're my life."

"And I'm assuming they know it."

"I sure hope they do."

"Yakko, there's such a thing called karma. 'What goes around comes around.' If you didn't care so much for them, do you think they would have cared so much for you?"

Yakko remembered the nights he heard them both crying, or one comforting the other, or discuss their anxiety outside his room, or implore the doctor and Hello Nurse to tell them he's be okay, and staying in his room as much as possible, and trying to keep him healthy and never going anywhere to be at his side, and at these recalls, Yakko began to realize the message Scratchy was about to convey.

"They love you very much, Yakko. To the point they tried very had to take care of you. It's normal for you to feel guilty, and many people do in your position. You made a mistake, but now you can learn from it."

"You're saying that Wakko and Dot slaving themselves over to look after me was kind of like repaying me for what I've done for them?"

"Ch'es. You see, you _must _be a genuine older brother for your siblings to care for you so dearly, and you should be proud to have formed such a close bond, to have made the right decisions to lead to it."

Yakko knew Scratchy was right, but the guilt still lay in him, and he knew it likely always would. But, he _did_ feel better, and he not realized before, what he was being told, now. Dot and Wakko appreciated him and loved him, and that was because he appreciated and loved them, and all those times they mulled over his condition, sat next to him in bed, cried, and restricted themselves from doing anything they thought was wrong in Yakko's absence was all for him, whether or not any of them realized it. They tried so hard because they cared. Not just because they had to. They didn't have to. They could have dumped him I his room and let the doctors handle his recovery while they went out to enjoy themselves without him, and they didn't. They did just the opposite, because they cared. It was also when Yakko realized that he had been so over-protective of them when he was mobile and unaware of the severity of the illness. He was feeling tired and slouchy, and he blindly sensed the approaching madness, so he went out of his way, to take care of his siblings and protect them, so the same thing wouldn't happen to them, thinking it was just psychology.

_Because they cared._

Yakko hadn't asked any questions or tried to continue the conversation. He rose, threw a smile toward Scratchy with a short remark; "Thanks," and left the office to find his siblings waiting for him in an eagerness he had in himself.

_Because they cared. _Yakko cared, too. And he knew he would, for his siblings, and with his siblings, for the rest of his immortal life.

**I don't know how you people did this me, you inspirational gems. This spilled out like a glass of milk, and it wasn't nearly as short and vague as I thought it would be. I hope the closure is better this time, and though I am not totally satisfied with it, I am a little more happy than with the last chapter. I hope you're happy, too. I apologize if the symptoms of scarlet fever are inaccurate, but I just couldn't think of anything else, so. Illnesses are different for toons. Their symptoms become non-communicable really fast. Read, review, and recycle. Kaythanks.**


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